A/N: Ladies aaaaand gentlemen, we have returned with another installment of 'where the wild stories are'. Also, happy new year! 2021 was... interesting. Hope 2022 is better but that isn't why you're here. You're here for this story written by someone of questionable sanity! It's time we start getting to know the Institute a bit better, and also some of our main characters' thoughts on them. The Institute is the one part of Fallout 4 I thought Bethesda did a good job setting up, but their execution was a bit of a let down. They're conniving, and secretive, but they never really played into that in the game. I want to change that. Anyway, let me know what you think if you're so inclined to leave a review, and as always, enjoy!
Chapter27: The Mission
And they wanted to send a few Coursers into this with no recon or prep.
If it came to a fight between the Brotherhood and the Institute, I doubt the Institute's technological advantage would be enough to overcome their lack of experience. Either they're too confident in it, or they haven't read enough combat theory. They sure as hell haven't been out in the field.
From my vantage point, laying in the wet sand on what was left of a beach about a half klick from the ocean, it looked like 'Libertaria' was essentially a floating shanty town. The 'compound' was made of 23 boats ranging in size from what looked like small rowboats to the tail end of a tanker sticking up from the sea floor. They were all connected with bridges made of planks lashed together with just about anything they could find; rope, wire, clothes, and more.
Most had makeshift structures erected on them to provide shelter for living quarters and storage. A few looked like empty jail cells.
Then there were the Raiders themselves.
Something was different about these ones. Instead of the cobbled together leather and iron plates I've seen from most, they had relatively uniform gear that looked reasonably well cared for. They remind me of what the Railroad use. Most wore thick leather jackets and, while the armor varied from Raider to Raider, it all looked much more effective. Instead of being haphazardly thrown together, most of it seemed to cover vital spots: chest, thighs, forearms, and even a few helmets that looked like they could stop something more deadly than angry thoughts. Their weapons were much more consistent than normal too. Most carried HK-33s, or the 7.62X51 combat rifle Nate had with a few higher powered bolt action rifles mixed in for the overwatch positions posted either on the tanker, or some of the larger surrounding boats.
Between those positions and the 300 meters of open ground or water someone would have to cover in any direction on approach, it would be very difficult to sneak up on the flotilla.
The tanker was clearly their main structure, with at least a dozen Raiders ambling around the hulk. The entire rear section of the ship was converted into a tower, with levels made up of large wooden platforms. They were occupied by everything from sleeping quarters to what might have been common areas and cooking facilities. It made sense; the hulk was almost certainly grounded which meant it wouldn't sink (anymore), and if the structure was sound, it was the most readily defensible position. It was also only accessible by traversing the ships scattered around the bay, which meant if you wanted to get to it, you had to go through the Raiders while the overwatch was taking shots at you from the ship. Not a bad setup. That would be where our target is.
"We're only a few miles from the airport", Nate said from his spot a few meters to my right. He was laying behind a small, rusted hulk that might have been a cart or trailer at one point. The Coursers, a male and two female Synths, were on the opposite side of me. I couldn't tell if they were intently studying the target, bored, or in some kind of sleep cycle.
This had to be quick and relatively quiet. A few shots wouldn't be an issue, but if this took longer than a few minutes, the Brotherhood would almost certainly get curious enough to send a sortie. It would concern any competent commander to have a massive battle so close to their base of operations, and while I admit it begrudgingly, Maxson is more than competent.
"A protracted gunfight would be too risky."
"Yep."
"Explosives." I glanced to my left at the woman who had spoken, the closest Courser with the same black jacket every other Courser I'd seen wear, pale skin, and jet black hair.
"We do not have the numbers to overwhelm them quickly enough. It would be several minutes, longer than we can risk."
As much as my pride hated it, she was right. It wasn't killing the Raiders that would be the problem, it's the unstable platforms we would be fighting from. Nate, the Coursers, the Raiders, they'd be fine. I'm wearing almost a half ton of armor. Moving quickly would be out of the question, and no matter how careful I was, there's always the risk a wrong step would put me in the murky, greenish brown water. Again, not a huge problem, my armor can handle the radiation, and I have two and a half hours of oxygen, but it would be a delay that was unacceptable. Explosions would be useful but…
"Too distinct, and too loud."
"Yeah…" Nate mused and I felt his gaze fall on me. "You're telling me you couldn't get through them fast enough?"
I shook my head. "Not fighting over unstable footing in my armor."
"Oh… right… laser weapons are probably quiet enough to avoid-" he stopped himself with a grunt. "Until they start shooting back."
"Yes."
The issue was how quickly we could eliminate the Raider force and get to the tanker, then fight to and capture the Synth leader. Explosives would shortcut fighting our way through the smaller boats provided we left ourselves a pathway, but they're too loud and would draw unwanted attention.
So how do you quiet down an explosion? There aren't many options, most of them revolve around putting them inside buildings. Or ships. I wasn't sneaking onto the smaller boats, and certainly not the tanker. The Coursers might be able to with their active camouflage… but would those pieces of rusted out crap be enough? No, probably not. What about shortcuting things and going straight for the tanker? I can survive wading through it to the target, so we would be able to split the attack but that wouldn't do much to reduce the engagement time.
"Hey", Nate said, "you've never been dynamite fishing before have you?"
What? I looked at him. Have I been fishing?
Something in my glare must have turned the bastard's brain back on because he grinned sheepishly. "Right, uh, depth charges, do you-" he stopped himself and glanced at the Coursers behind me. "Know how those work?"
"Yes…" I trailed off.
Wait- water. Water can muffle the explosion. He wants to put charges under the boats and blow them. That would work. The concussion wave would destroy most of the smaller boats. I can set charges, and if the Coursers can sneak onto the tanker while I am, before we blow them, they can teleport back to the Institute with the mark.
"Nate- that is… a good idea."
He rolled his eyes. "You say that like I don't have those. Do we have anything that goes boom?"
"Yes", the same Courser said, "I will need to retrieve them from the Institute, allow me a few minutes."
She activated her active camouflage and I watched the faint distortion make its way back toward what was left of the buildings on the west edge of the beach a few hundred meters away. Life would be so much easier with that tech.
"That suit's rad-proof", Nate continued once she was gone, "does it have an air supply?"
I nodded, studying our target and the shoreline in either direction. Time wasn't a concern until the shooting started, so I could take it slow on approach and setting the charges. The further away I entered the water, the better.
As for the explosives themselves… I reached back, looking for any references to the mechanics of underwater detonations. I've never done one in practice, but I'm sure there's something I can apply here, right? Most explosives kill using shrapnel, but like bullets, shrapnel wouldn't travel far in water. The pressure wave should travel much quicker and maintain its energy much further in a thicker medium. That's how depth charges work. I think.
"Dynamite fishing", I said, turning to Nate. "The concussion kills the fish, correct."
He nodded slowly. "If you use too much it can bust a hole in your boat." The smaller man smiled. "I'm kinda excited to use too much." He looked back at the conglomeration of rusted hulks. "I wasn't a combat engineer or EOD, but I've rigged my fair share of explosions. I think…" He trailed off for a moment, studying the boats intently. "Our best bet would be to ring the boats with explosives. Those two large ones in the middle", he motioned at two bobbing forms, decks far above anything besides the tanker, "are going to take a lot to sink. The pressure waves should hit them all at once and boom."
"Overkill wouldn't go amiss here", I muttered.
I caught his smirk out of the corner of my eye. "Just what I was thinking."
15 minutes later I was wading into the sickly looking water a kilometer south of the target with a large pack of charges slung over my left shoulder. They looked like old school plastic explosives, each in a small, waterproof bag. I had the detonator, also protected against the hellish looking ocean, stuffed in one of my armor's pouches.
The other four were still on the beach, scouting the floating compound. In 10 minutes, after I began seeding the ocean floor with explosives, the two Coursers who would assist in the assault, X6-88, and the woman who had retrieved the explosives, X2-17, would slip onto the tanker. Five minutes after I placed the explosives and climbed out of the water, I would detonate, and that's when the fun began.
My trek through the silty, disgusting water was slow and arduous. My titanium boots sunk up to the calf with each step. While walking through the water wasn't an issue, maintaining my footing while also circumventing the clusters of wrecked boats littering the ocean floor was a pain in the ass.
Suck it up, I've dealt with worse. I smiled. That was certainly true. An early mission came to mind, trudging through a swamp while it was raining to give myself the best bet to sneak up on an Innie outpost without being detected. The armor I had at the time was even heavier than my current suit. I got stuck on four separate occasions. Now that sucked.
I arrived underneath the cluster a few minutes early. That was probably a good thing. Visibility on my way in was terrible, and it hadn't gotten any better. The floor here was scattered with even more wreckage than along the shore.
Each charge was about the size of my forearm, and heavy enough to settle into the silty ocean floor. I did my best to walk a consistent path, but there was enough debris I had to place several explosives slightly out of position. That probably wouldn't be an issue, but that's part of the reason Nate and the third Courser would be on shore: it'll be easy for them to clean up any survivors.
It struck me odd there were no traps, at first, but then, why would there be? This water was heavily irradiated. No one would be dumb enough to try this, and if they were, they'd be dead in no time without a suit of power armor. The Brotherhood had only shown up a few weeks ago, and they wouldn't mess around with tricks like this.
After 10 minutes of struggling with poor footing and wreckage scattered along the floor, I finally placed the last charge and began toward the tanker.
I had been right; the nose of the ship had buried itself in the sand and, while it's deck sloped relatively steeply into the ocean floor, the 20 meter climb was easy. There were a few times a corroded piece of the ship broke away under my weight. After the first, I made sure I had at least two points of contact at all times so I didn't sink back to the sand below.
As I neared the surface I checked my mission clock. Two minutes. I settled on a small bulkhead a few meters below the waterline and waited.
This part sucked. Having no sort of communication with the rest of my team was a major handicap, but I wasn't going to risk using any traceable equipment from the Institute. I guess I just have to hope they make it on time. If they don't… I'll be doing this myself. Nothing new there.
The last 30 seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly. Rushing is a great way to blow an op though, and the last thing I need now is the Brotherhood on my ass.
I crept toward the water's surface as the final seconds ticked by. I couldn't see much through the murky water, but I remember a makeshift platform was just above me. It was the tanker's connection to the network of bridges running between the boats. It wasn't one of the ship's steel bulkheads, so I'd have to be careful.
Three.
Two.
One.
As the final second ticked by, my legs coiled tight and I Iaunched myself out of the sickly green water-
Straight into one of the Raiders.
The short, stocky woman didn't have time to register surprise before a half ton of titanium slammed into her. The collision sent the unsuspecting Raider bastard careening backwards into the ship's slanted hull. I couldn't stay here. The moment I detonated the charges, this platform constructed out of wooden beams lashed together with rope would be turned into splinters.
My first victim was trying to shake the disorientation when I rammed my knee into her head. It slammed into the bulkhead and turned into a red burst of blood, bone, and brains.
A second and third on the platform we're just beginning to respond to my sudden appearance when I caught the telltale shimmer behind them. In unison, their throats were slashed open, and the two men tumbled to the deck, grasping at the massive gashes.
"Move", I said, pointing at the next deck.
The two mostly invisible Coursers began up the crude, wooden staircase and I followed close behind. It groaned worryingly under my weight, but held.
When I joined the two Synths, I found them standing over another dead Raider, throat cut the same way. They were certainly efficient.
I pulled the detonator from its waterproof pouch and dropped to the deck. "Fire in the hole!"
An instant after I jammed my thumb down on the firing stud, a deep rumble reverberated it's way up the steel hull. Before I could turn to look, the rumble turned into a violent shake, then an outright eruption. I felt, more than heard the massive plume of water explode from the ocean beneath us.
High pressure seawater slammed into me hard enough to bounce me off of the ship's deck, and overloaded the Coursers' active camo. I grabbed X2-17 to keep her from tumbling from the platform while X6-88 crashed to the deck.
I managed to force my head around to look at my handiwork. That was pointless. I couldn't see anything through the still erupting mass of water showering us. So instead, I focused on maintaining my grip on the Courser and keeping both of us from taking an unwanted dive.
After a second or two, the shaking slowed to a stop, and the water stopped surging upwards. It began showering down on us in a deluge that felt like I was trapped in a waterfall. The pounding roar sure sounded like it. If my armor didn't weigh so much, I would have been swept back into the ocean with it. As it was, I still had to grasp for the bulkhead beside me to keep X2-17 and I rooted in place. I couldn't see the second Courser through the sheets of water pouring down around us.
Several loud thuds sounded, and twice the platform we were on vibrated under impacts. That might have been Raiders losing their battle with the falling water.
Eventually, the cascade of water slowed enough for me to see the black form of X6-88 clinging to the wooden platform where he had fallen. I glanced down into the bay below us-
Pieces. The collection of boats that had made up Libertalia were little more than pieces slowly drifting down to rest with the rest of the wreckage on the ocean floor.
As soon as the downpour of water was slow enough to be safe, I released the Courser's arm.
"On me", I barked as I pushed myself back to my feet. We needed to move fast, the Brotherhood may not have seen the plume of water from behind the rows of crumbling buildings, but there was no point in taking that risk.
We climbed the next several flights without incident. Looks like those were Raiders caught in the downpour.
It wasn't until the third platform when I found three of the hateful bastards gaping at what was left of the boats below the tanker. One of them at least had the presence of mind to consider there were probably attackers, because she had her rifle in hand and was turning to the staircase as I crested it.
It's the thought that counts.
Three trigger pulls later, two of them had tumbled from the platform, bouncing off of the ones below before plunging into the water, each with a hole burned through the side of their head. The third had just enough time to register shock before a laser speared through her left eye and she tumbled to the ground.
A distant cough sounded and I heard a heavy thud, then another, before another raider's body slammed down in front of me.
I glanced toward where Nate was laying, just cresting the edge of a berm almost 500 meters away. The shot was through his target's neck.
Not bad.
We continued up the tanker past several watch posts, a few beds, now drenched beyond usability, cooking facilities, and full, covered common areas Hell, these people had several sets of living quarters set up out here. I had to wonder how long this Synth has been their leader. If they had infrastructure like this, set up in a position that would have been very difficult to assault if it weren't for my armor, expanding wouldn't be difficult. It again crossed my mind how stupid it was for Ayo to think he could send a few Coursers out here to do this with no recon or planning.
Then, as X2-17 and I dispatched another pair of Raiders one platform below the Tanker's uppermost level, a new thought occurred to me. This gang seemed pretty well established, why would the Institute let them get this far? Did they not know?
Something to consider another time.
A half dozen impacts preceded their subdued reports from the beach, but this time I didn't hear anyone get hit. That meant they were probably dug in.
I turned to the two Coursers and motioned toward the final staircase. "Camo."
They nodded in unison and faded from view, their subtle shimmer the only sign they were still there.
The two of them climbed to the platform above and, a few seconds later, there was a wet tearing noise I knew all too well as the telltale sound of someone having their throat torn open. Then another.
"SHIT!" someone shouted from the platform above. "We got someone up here."
I took that as my cue.
Bounding up the staircase, my eyes raced around the large platform with several enclosed sleeping quarters, what looked like the bridge of a smaller ship, and a half dozen still living Raiders. I sighted on the first man, hidden behind a crate to my right. My first shot was low, lancing into the base of his neck, just over his left collarbone. The second hit him in the left ear as he fell to the ground.
My rifle found the second, a short man who was frantically searching for the camouflaged Coursers, and put him down too.
A few seconds later, it was over. Seven Raiders were dead, and I doubt they ever knew what was killing them.
The last living member of the gang that wasn't currently bathing in a radiation bath was on the wooden deck, pinned by X2-17.
"The fuck are you? Institute?"
"Yes", the woman said,
A distant pounding drew my attention to the south. That concussion was unmistakable. The Vertibirds themselves were still blocked by the skyline, but they were coming.
Our time was up. Dammit. I didn't want to leave. Run. I wanted to stay, ambush whatever recon force the Brotherhood was sending out. Capture a few, interrogate them, find where Julian is, gather intel on their operations. But that isn't the mission, and as much as I hate to admit it, doing that would be a terrible idea. I need to create the right opportunity.
Wait.
Maybe there is something I can do here.
I turned to the beach and twirled a finger over my head and, a few seconds later, the telltale flash of the Institute's science fiction teleportation system exploded where Nate and the other Courser had been.
"Take the package back to base", I said to X2-17 before looking at her counterpart. "With me."
Both Synths hesitated.
"I would like to inquire about your intentions", the X6-88 said, voice as flat as ever.
"Recon the Brotherhood sortie, determine the resources they use, look for an opportunity to capture one of their soldiers."
The two Institute combatants turned to one another and, after a moment's hesitation, shared a nod.
"That is agreeable."
I'm glad, I wasn't asking permission. If they hadn't I would have told them to leave and set up a secondary rendezvous. This was an opportunity too good to pass up.
X2-17 and their now cooperative Synth disappeared in another flash of light, leaving me alone with someone with, somehow, even less personality than me.
"Does your active camouflage also block infrared?"
"Partially. It is primarily used for the visible light spectrum."
I don't know the Brotherhood have IR optics, but I also don't know they don't. After giving it a moment of thought, I decided it didn't matter anyway. We needed to stay together in case we need to bug out.
We moved back down the platforms toward the sickly looking green water as the Vertibirds emerged over the skeletal cityscape to the southwest. There were four of the bulbous aircraft. I couldn't stop myself from wondering if one of them was the VTOL that had survived the ambush. My mind flashed back to the image of Julian meeting my eyes, terror and confusion plastered on his young, unmarred face.
I'd failed him. I'd failed everyone. And the Brotherhood took Julian away from the last people he knew.
Ire began rising, tinging my thoughts red. I was mad at the Brotherhood; they ambushed us. They took Julian. I was mad at Diamond City for cooperating with those fundamentalist bastards. But I was an order of magnitude more upset with myself. How-
Stop. Relax. Pay attention. I can't change what happened, but this is one mistake I can still fix. I have to fix it.
Right…
I took a deep breath and shook myself loose.
It looks like they learned the mantra 'there's no such thing as overkill' after their ambush. 10 people and one of their extremely limited aircraft will do that. Each of those can hold six to eight armored soldiers. I'd rather not find out what I'd have to do to eliminate 30 plus well equipped soldiers without the appropriate hardware. Capturing someone will be difficult if they practice good squad tactics.
Then I need to take what I can get and go. I've had plenty of operations almost blown because I was trying to do too much when I didn't need to. How the Brotherhood responds to this disturbance can tell me a lot, there's no need to press.
As we reached the lowermost level, the four Vertibirds began circling what was left of the flotilla. It wasn't a complicated maneuver, but it was well performed. The aircraft were high enough and moving fast enough, small arms fire would be largely ineffective, and they would have a chance to avoid any larger ordinance sent their way.
The combination of well-practiced and amateurish execution was strange. Their ambush and exfil in Diamond City had been terrible, yet here they were carrying out a damn near text book sortie and, most likely, insertion. Their assault on the Supermutants had been simple and went sideways quickly, but Danse had rallied his people and they recovered.
If I had to guess, their organization wasn't large enough, or experienced enough to have a sufficient number of competent commanders. It wasn't uncommon in smaller insurrectionist cells, the best way to deal with that is to take them out quickly. The more engagements they have and survive, the more experience they get, the more dangerous they are. My question is resources.
I watched as two of the VTOLs drifted down to the beach and deposited their cargo: 16 Brotherhood soldiers wearing T-60 power armor. They fanned out and began scanning the area in pairs while the aircrafts' rotors began pounding at the air, pulling them from the damp sand.
So it seems they learned from the ass kicking they got in Diamond city. The next time I hit them, I need to make sure there's nothing valuable they can learn, or I don't leave anyone alive to learn it. That means it will need to be carefully controlled. I glanced at the Courser crouched next to me. If I can get the Institute to cooperate, that shouldn't be a problem.
As far as what I can learn, I've gotten as much as I need from this exercise.
"Let's go."
X6-88 nodded before another blinding flash enveloped us-
And we were standing in one of the Institute's Relay pods, like the one Nate and I appeared in the first time around. This time, I didn't feel like my guts were trying to jump out of my throat.
"X6-88 transition complete", an automated voice announced, and the Courser stepped through the small door ahead of us.
"Please follow me", he said, "Father would like you to witness B5-92's interview."
Interview. They're putting on a show. If the Institute's only goal was reclamation, which is what they've preached to this point, they would do whatever they have to to reset it. They want Nate and I to hear what this thing's done. Might as well go along.
I followed the Courser through the Institute's winding, white washed halls filled with wide eyed eggheads hurriedly squeezing themselves to the sides as we passed, but my thoughts were still on the Brotherhood sortie. I did the right thing, made the safe choice, but it still felt like I should have done more. 32 soldiers? Even if they'd been in power armor, I could have figured out a way to capture one. The Vertibirds would have been a problem, but if I'd done it fast enough… I'd be that much closer to getting Julian back. I'd be that much closer to getting rid of the Brotherhood.
But I knew that was irrational. I've taken enough chances over the past few months. I've screwed up enough times doing things how I felt like doing them since coming here. I need to reassess and approach things differently, and diving into a half baked ambush isn't that.
Eventually, X6-88 led me through a final door that whispered shut behind us. As with most of the rooms in this place, it was a laboratory, but the equipment here was… strange. Instead of the machinery I'd expect, like what Curie had, it was occupied by a chair, contoured to fit a person almost perfectly, with small contacts throughout, especially around the head. The apparatus was connected to a computer bank with a technician behind it, tapping away at a keyboard. She didn't look up as we entered, thoroughly engrossed in whatever she was working on.
"X6-88", another technician said as he walked through an entrance on the far end of the lab, "please come in, we are about to start the debriefing."
The Courser nodded and followed the short, bald man back through the sliding metal door. I hesitated. Something about the room was… uncomfortable. It was just as well lit and had the same antiseptic feel as every other centimeter of this place, with the same white washed walls and cool white indirect lighting. Why was this room different? My gaze wandered from the technician who still hadn't looked up, to the chair, and then through the far door.
I didn't feel as though I were in danger, I just… don't like this room.
After a few seconds, I exited the lab and found myself standing in what looked like a small conference room. X2-17 was there along with Nate, Shaun, X6-88, and the tech. A large viewing screen was set in the far wall with a feed from some bare, featureless room, the only occupants, a table and two chairs. One of them was empty, Gabriel, or B5-92, was sitting in the other.
As I stopped beside him, the ex-soldier shot me a questioning glance, but he seemed more preoccupied with what was happening in the room.
Shaun cleared his throat. "I'm glad you've returned unharmed. This is a normal part of our reclamation process. We interview the recovered Synths to determine what has happened since their escape. Our primary objective is to identify and eliminate potential security risks and mitigate the chances of incursions, but it is also a good reminder of how dangerous they can be if left without direction."
That sounded a lot like they wanted to gather intel on the Railroad. Why wouldn't they ask? They had to know we used the Railroad to get here, so why wouldn't they ask? I wouldn't give them any information, but would Nate?
That would put Cassandra and Thomas at risk. More than that, he knows what would happen to the Railroad if he gave the Institute intel on them.
"Z1-43", Shaun said into an intercom set in the wall, "please commence interview."
"Yes, Father", came the deadpan response. A moment later a door under the camera swung open and another courser, this one male, slipped into the room. He sat in the empty chair opposite the still motionless Synth. "B5-92, reactivate."
The stationary form shifted, and the now former Raider raised his head. His rugged, scarred face didn't have the open hostility I'd seen during the fight; if anything, I'd describe it as blank.
"How can I be of service?" Gabriel, or B5-92 asked, voice equally as emotionless.
"We are here to discuss your actions during your time separated from the Institute."
The Synth nodded absently. "Yes. I joined a Raider gang in Libertalia."
"Do you have any knowledge of your actions prior to this?"
Silence drifted over the small room as B5-92 considered the question.
"I do not", he said eventually. "My memories after… strange. My memories up until shortly before joining have been scrubbed. I am unable to recover anything."
That didn't surprise me, the people at the Railroad are smart; any memories of the escape or whatever they did to help would be information the Institute could use to close off avenues of escape, and track the cell down. By the lack of a response, it didn't seem to catch Shaun off guard either.
"Understandable", the Courser interviewer said, "please explain what occurred during your time with the Libertalia group."
The Synth nodded. "When I first arrived, the Raiders were primarily focused on securing drugs, very little attention was given to our armament, equipment, and safety. I began by gathering information on how they had operated to that point, and what their standing was with other gangs. Once I knew the capabilities of their fighters, their supplies, and the other gangs in the area, I eliminated Kang, the leader when I joined, and obtained leadership of the group. Once this was done, I began consolidating or eliminating the outlying gangs and fortified our position in the bay."
"Please describe how you obtained supplies."
"We primarily attacked smaller outlying settlements in the northeastern regions of the Commonwealth. Supply caravans along I-90 and I-95 were also targets. We were unable to monopolize the area because of the Forged, however we were in the midst of negotiating a non-aggression agreement when they were eliminated."
It sounds like I inadvertently did this guy a favor. Before wiping his gang out too.
"We are also aware many of your boats contained holding cells. Would you please explain your use for those?"
"Many of our later recruits were captured during attacks. Some of them were also sold into slavery, or used for recreational purposes."
Maybe I'm not the right one to talk about questionable morality (though I've never reached that point), but hearing someone describe rape as 'recreational' and in such a detached manner felt… wrong. Unfortunately, I wasn't hearing anything I didn't already expect. I've seen smaller enclaves and insurrectionist outfits who operate more like some of the Raiders here. The strategies and tactics this Synth employed weren't a surprise either; any rational leader would do what he did. I suppose in a world where these Raiders are considered a credible threat, that type of planning would be considered uncommon.
"Your original programming was security, and you were selected for Courser training prior to your escape. Did you retain any of those memories after the Railroad interference."
B5-92 shook his head. "Not explicitly. However, many of the ideas and strategies I used to consolidate and fortify our position were derivative. Now that some of my memories have been restored I see they found their roots in it."
"The Railroad was not able to completely wipe B5-92's programming", the technician mused. "It is possible they were unable to completely destroy his memories of the escape and interactions with them."
"Yes", Shaun said, "I believe a more intensive scan with this subject may yield useful information."
"Agreed."
Whether or not Shaun's goal with this exercise is to convince Nate and I the best place for Synths is with the Institute, all he's done so far is convince me neither they nor the Railroad know how to handle this situation. They're more concerned with pursuing their own, narrow vision than actual progress. Considering what I've seen, as much as I hate to acknowledge, Maxson's fear and bigotry against Synth makes sense. However, that's through no fault of the Synths. I don't know enough about them to determine whether there is something fundamentally wrong, but even then, that's on the Institute.
"So…" Nate said before trailing off. His voice still sounded… dazed. "If the Railroad hadn't wiped his memories, would this have happened?"
Shaun shook his head. "Most likely not."
There were so many things I could say, but the situation is probably more complicated than I'm giving it credit for. The Railroad wipes (most) Synths' memories for their own safety. While I agree, at least in part, with Curie's assessment, I could also see it from their perspective. As for the Institute… I don't know.
"I understand you used their help to get here", the Institute's leader looked at me, "but they are a threat to everything we are doing here."
He's known me for less than 72 hours and he's already pulling this shit? I'm accustomed to being used for my… unique talents, but this guy had some balls on him if he thought he could ask me to do his dirty laundry this soon.
I glanced at Nate. He didn't seem to pick up on the implication.
"You haven't convinced me", I said, squaring up to Shaun. I was close enough he had to crane his neck to meet my gaze, but Nate's son looked more bored than anything.
"This is not an uncommon occurrence. If you'd like to see our records of recovered-"
"No. You want me to kill someone for you. A lot of someones. You're a scientist, you know the difference between statistical and anecdotal evidence." That wasn't strictly the reason I wasn't willing to cooperate. Something about this situation was raising alarm bells and it went beyond my normal suspicions.
What was it?
"You do not seem to have a problem killing."
"It depends on the circumstances. Raiders are Raiders, the Railroad is something different."
"Is that so? Several of the Synths they have 'helped' have become Raiders. They are just as if not more damaging than any individual band of Raiders you have wiped out."
"Damon", Nate interjected before I could respond, voice uncertain, "I think he might have a point. They don't seem like bad people, but… if what they're doing leads to people getting hurt…" he turned to his son, voice growing more assertive. "That being said, I don't think they're ill-intentioned. Nothing I've seen warrant's killing them."
Shaun met the ex-soldier's gaze.
I didn't like it but… what could I say? I'm still not sure what has me so on edge. Sure, the Institute could be doing more, but with threats like the Brotherhood, and the outright prejudice of the citizens in the Commonwealth, their caution and isolation makes sense. Beyond that, my suspicions, and aggression, with the Brotherhood, while they turned out to be well placed, were part of the reason why they moved before I did, and why they now had Julian.
Long story short, I don't have enough information to make a decision either way, and making a bad decision is why I've spent the last two and a half weeks hiding.
It's possible Nate's right. Neither of us have enough info to make a reasonable decision.
So what, I do nothing?
For now, yes.
I hate doing nothing, almost more than anything. I can't let my preferences affect my decisions. The Brotherhood were a means to an end, I was going to betray them at some point regardless. So are the Institute, but they're a means to leaving this place…
Maybe.
Eventually.
Until then, I need to stay on their good side. Acting on no information isn't how I do that.
"What do you suggest?" The Institute's leader asked.
Nate shook his head. "I don't know yet." He glanced at me. "We have people we care about there."
"The children you rescued from the Supermutants?"
So they have eyes everywhere. It's little wonder why the Railroad is so meticulous.
"Yeah… except for one." The ex-soldier cast his eyes to the steel floor between his feet.
"When the Brotherhood ambushed you. They took one."
"You- uh- wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"
My heart leapt. They might- if the Brotherhood doesn't have the same protocols in place as the Railroad, it's possible the Institute would be able to track them.
Shaun shrugged. "He is not someone we considered a person of interest."
The hope skipped disappointment and went straight to borderline rage.
"Not… a person of interest", I bit out. A young kid who just watched his world destroyed, captured by a fanatical cult (though I'm starting to understand their motives) isn't someone worth their time?
"I apologize for the loss", the grey haired man said, voice slow and measured, "and I appreciate how much you both care for this boy. I don't mean any disrespect."
Nate held up a hand to me. "Wait, I know what you're going to say." His voice was clipped, but still calm. The smaller man looked at his son. "You guys have eyes everywhere, it seems, but I'm guessing your resources are limited, so you prioritize."
"That is correct."
"Well, considering he is important to people you're now relying on, would you be able to dedicate resources to tracking him down?"
Damn. Whatever was going on in Nate's head, he still had it on straight enough to know when to use the leverage he has.
I tamped down my ire, but it didn't extinguish completely. The fact they hadn't considered Julian important enough to keep tabs on wasn't what got me, that makes sense, it was the nonchalance Shaun had answered with. I guess I should be used to it, considering who I worked for.
This time's a little different.
True.
"I suppose so", the older man said eventually. "We can dedicate some of our resources to finding him, however we are unfamiliar with how the Brotherhood operates. Would you be able to advise on the best course of action?"
I nodded. "Yes." This could be a good opportunity to gather intel on the Brotherhood's other operations as well.
"Good. Now, after you've had time to unwind from your fight, I would like to offer you the opportunity to see more of our facilities and the more significant projects we are undertaking."
Yesterday you were too suspicious to give us a tour, now it's fair game? That was certainly suspicious, but there are situations it makes sense. If he's trying to dazzle with advanced technology, he's going to be sorely disappointed by my response.
"I'm sure you'd like something to eat, we can have food brought to your room."
Nate met my gaze. "Food sounds good."
As X6-88 led us back to the small apartment, I couldn't help the unease building in my gut. Shaun wanted us to help the Institute, that wasn't a surprise. They have little to no combat experience, and their fighting force, at least from what I've seen, isn't capable of engaging the Brotherhood.
But then what?
I have a bone to pick with the cult, more so than they do, but what will they do with the experience they gain? The fighting force they would have to build?
It was odd, worrying about what the Institute would do to this wasteland once this fight is over, once I leave. No… not the wasteland. Most people here don't like me, and the feeling is mutual. But there are people I do care about. What happens to them? I'm not sure the Institute would be a better option than whatever the Brotherhood has planned if they defeated them. They certainly don't seem to think highly of anyone not in their underground 'paradise'.
Once we reached the room, Nate stripped his gear and piled it on the table. He looked down at himself, his pants, shirt, vest, and jacket sandy from laying on the beach.
"I'm gonna take a shower." He smiled. "Is it strange that feels weird to say after getting used to… less luxurious ways of staying clean?"
"I guess. Showers have never been common for me."
The smaller man snorted. "Do I want to know what you smell like in that tin can?"
My armor- "My undersuit recirculates bodily fluids and has an antibacterial lining."
This time he laughed. "That's what gets you to talk about your equipment? A little sensitive are we?"
About my armor? The only constant for me over the past 8 years? The closest thing I have to a home?
"Yes", I bit out.
My voice must have carried the irritation because Nate's sarcasm dried up almost instantly. "Okay. I get it."
Relax. How is he supposed to know? This situation has me strung out.
Right.
I took a deep breath and nodded.
"Hey, I guess I can't complain, that armor's been pretty damn useful." He frowned, some of his constant, usually annoying curiosity seeping back into his expression. "Is it only- uh, never mind." The ex-soldier glanced around the room pointedly. Whatever he wanted to ask was something he didn't want the Institute to hear, or thought I wouldn't.
He began slipping his jacket off and groaned. "That shower's been calling my name too long now."
As he walked back into the bedroom, it struck me odd that he was in such a… good mood. It was a massive turnaround in two days, especially considering the circumstances. Is that a good thing? I'm still trying to figure out my own emotions, speculating on someone else's probably isn't going to get me anywhere useful.
Five minutes after the loud rush of water began, Porter arrived with two more trays full of food. After depositing them on the small table, she hesitated, pulling the band holding her bar back out and retying it. She looked nervous.
Someone's nervous around me? That's a first.
Whatever.
"Damon-" she started before falling silent for a moment. The slim, athletic woman looked me up and down, carefully avoiding my gaze. "I know Nate is the one who has been most affected by this, and I would never make a judgement on someone I've just met, but I can understand if this situation is difficult for you as well." Her eyes finally found my visor. "Don't hesitate to ask if you'd like someone to talk with. If you do, I can promise I will be the only one privy to it." Porter offered an uncertain smile.
She'd be the only one privy to whatever I said? Right. There were a whole lot of ways she could screw me over without telling anyone what I said. The shrink seemed sincere; her speech was smooth and uninterrupted, and while she was uncomfortable, it didn't look to be any more than the normal nervous energy most people have around older SPARTANs. Then again, I'm not the best at reading people.
Diplomacy. I need their help.
I shrugged mentally and offered her a nod. "Understood."
Porter's uncertain smile grew a little more confident before she returned my nod and turned to leave.
Once the door slid shut, I looked at the food sitting on the trays. This time was something that looked like fish on a salad with some kind of purple berry mixed in. The fare looked delicious, and it again drew my mind back to Cassandra and Thomas. Why do I deserve this? Why am I eating this when they're stuck with the Railroad, surviving off of whatever their temporary caretakers could scrape together (usually some sort of tough, bland meat and, if they're lucky, fruit). What would Julian be eating? During our time with the Brotherhood, most of what we ate were essentially much MREs.
I slipped my helmet off and picked up one of the trays. It wasn't fair. They should be eating this, not me.
Fair. I'm talking about what's fair?
When I can control it, yes.
Nate's shower took long enough that, by the time he re-emerged with still wet hair and clean clothes, I'd been done eating and my thoughts were drifting back over the day's events.
"Damn", he said, sitting at the table. "That smells amazing." The ex-soldier picked up his fork to start eating, but he paused, just before pushing it into the fish. "This reminds me… of one of Nora's best dinners: seared lemon rosemary Salmon. She- made it for me three times. The first time she cooked for us, the day I got back… for the last time, and-" he cleared his throat, "the day after we got the news about Shaun."
So he isn't in a good mood?
He set the fork back down and leaned back in his chair. I watched as he stared up at the ceiling in silence. The smaller man was taking deep, controlled breaths, struggling against the rattle I could just make out, deep in his chest. I couldn't tell if this was over his son, his wife, or both.
It was odd, I could relate to loss, but his was different. I lost my family when I was barely old enough to understand it. Nate lost his wife, and then found out the life he wanted with his child had always been out of reach. It's like-
"Why don't you ever take your helmet off in front of other people?"
I blinked at the ex-soldier. He was staring at me.
"What?"
He shrugged. "Cass asked about it when you were on your second sortie."
Why don't I take my helmet off around others? I do- or I did, just not many.
"It's never something I've made a habit of. I'm more comfortable around most people with it on." Especially here.
"Did you do it around other- with your squad."
I nodded. "I was ordered to."
A smirk found its way onto his face. "It took an order? Stubborn asshole. You ever gonna take it off around anyone here?"
What was the point of this conversation? "Why?"
"Well… Cass spent most of those two days speculating."
"That's her, why are you asking?"
The ex-soldier shrugged. "It's strange to know someone this long and not know what they look like."
That was a good point. Why wasn't I willing to take my helmet off around them? Nate knows more about me than… anyone besides my handler, and they only know what is necessary for operational purposes. Cassandra, she might not know as much about me as Nate, but the way she looked at me, she understood my story in the way very few could. Thomas- and Julian, they were young, but still had more in common with me than most. If I couldn't feel comfortable around people like Alexandra, Ellie, Sturges, or Preston, why couldn't I around the four people who know me better than anyone else?
I don't know, but something still sat wrong. It wasn't because they weren't SPARTANs, plenty of regs had seen me without my helmet.
"Most people know me by this", I finally said, motioning to my helmet. "Even the people who have seen me without it."
My companion watched me for a few silent seconds before responding. "Doesn't that get lonely?" His voice was low, almost non-existent.
Lonely? I'd never thought about it. If people know me, what does it matter whether they know my face, or my visor? I'm a SPARTAN, most don't know much about us past the armor. Besides-
"I've been alone a long time. Spending time around people- willingly- is relatively new for me."
He blinked. "I guess that's probably something I can't understand."
It was my turn to shrug. "Don't know if there's much to understand."
"Damon", he said, voice dry as Commonwealth, "if there's anyone who is maddeningly difficult to understand most of the time, it's you."
I cocked my head. I'm difficult to understand?
"It's fine." Nate picked his fork back up. "We're supposed to be going on a tour soon, right? That's probably going to give me more answers than you."
X
After two hours of walking the facility, I'd be lying if I said a part of me wasn't impressed. We were standing in the Institute's central hub, the cavernous room we'd seen from the inside of the tube running down its center, fashioned to look like a double helix on our way in the first time. The hub probably had more healthy looking flora lining walls, and in glass enclosures than the entirety of the Commonwealth. The structure itself was no less impressive, with walkways spanning the massive enclosure at a half dozen different levels above us. Scientists, workers, and Synths, many of that last group armed, milled along the passages, some casting glances our way as they passed. Maybe it was just the result of growing used to the desolate wasteland above, but the Institute was a sight to behold.
With Nate and I were Dr. Porter, who seemed to have appointed herself as our official escort, as well as two other Institute scientists, Dr. Grant Olson, and Dr. Ronda Wells. They had led us on our tour of the Institute, meeting with several other scientists, including the department heads once more.
Ayo was just as short and aggressive as he had been in the conference room, leveling most of his ire at me. This time, it seemed more out of defensiveness than anything. The guy was genuinely convinced there couldn't be a more effective combat unit than his Coursers. I wasn't sorry to spoil that for him. The Coursers were good, but they were very clearly made by people who had never seen combat. Nate tried to interject, but I stopped him. Seeing the asshole squirm was… cathartic.
After a few minutes of not learning much, I got bored and we made our way to the advanced systems division, Dr. Li's area. This one was much busier than the SRD, with dozens of scientists and technicians working in everything from small laboratories to a massive room resembling a hangar. I didn't recognize most of the projects, but the few I could were weapons and armor. Ayo mentioned something about this division making some improvements to the Coursers, armament and defense is probably one of Dr. Li's responsibilities.
Regardless of what they used for, every workspace was damn near spotless. Every inch of the antiseptic halls and rooms full of lab or fabrication equipment, cleaned so thoroughly, it felt like my visor should be polarizing to block some of the intensely reflected light. It was… eerie.
As Porter was about to lead us out of the ASD, Dr. Li grabbed my wrist.
"I'd like a moment if you have the opportunity tomorrow morning", she said, staring up at me with an intensity in her sharp, angular eyes that piqued my curiosity.
"What for?"
"A personal matter."
I glanced at the other four who had stopped and were watching us.
"Just me?"
She nodded before releasing my arm.
Why? I stopped short of voicing the question. There were three reasons she would be asking to see me alone: she needs something she can't trust someone in the Institute with, she wants to try her luck attacking me, or she wants me away from Nate. The possibilities were interesting, not the least of which is her distrust of the Institute, the place she lives. Hadn't she said she was from the outside during the meeting the other day? Does it have something to do with that? I'd have to learn more before deciding, but this might be a good opportunity to play along for more info.
"Maybe."
Li offered another curt nod. "I'll come by your room."
Why would she want me instead of Nate? Did this 'personal matter' involve needing someone dead?
I turned back to the waiting group and we began toward the facilities department. I observed and listened while we spoke with Dr. Filmore as she gave us a short tour of her workspace. It wasn't as expansive as the advanced systems division, but from the sounds of it, most of her people worked around the Institute on repairs and upkeep. Thoughts about Dr. Li and what she might want were my focus. It wasn't only curiosity, there were several worrying implications, regardless of which option she chose.
Dr. Holdren's division, Bioscience, piqued my interest. Expansive hydroponics farms growing a larger variety of plants than I've ever seen in one place, a complex irrigation system, and at least as many technicians attending to them as in the ASD.
Then there was the 'animal farm'. I didn't know if it was derivative of their Synth technology, and Holdren wasn't willing to tell, but they had what were essentially brainless animals 'growing' in large batches, feed and oxygen tubes running to the 'animals'. So this is how they get fresh meat, they grow it, like a plant. That's two technological advancements this place has the UNSC would love to have.
Just like with the ASD, everything was utterly spotless, too spotless for an agricultural facility.
"Ho- what the hell?" Nate said, boggling at the… things. "These are… animals? Why do it like this?"
The blonde haired division leader grinned. "These only have the basic necessities to survive and mature: basic nervous system, simple vascular and respiratory systems, but a full fledged digestive system. It's more humane, they require about a third the resources necessary for a full animal, and we can maximize the edible portions of the resulting creatures."
Holy shit. My mind went back to Sanctuary, to Cassandra and Thomas, the Finches, hell, even to the people in the city. What could all those people do with this type of technology? The means to help, but decide not to.
"How does this scale?"
Holdren's gaze turned to me, eyes narrowed. "Better than normal farm animals, why?"
The BioScience division leader's answer didn't surprise me, but I still felt a twinge of disappointment. "Your intentions are to stay down here long term?" He nodded, expression incredulous. "Curious about the long term viability."
"As much as I… appreciate your concern, we've developed this technology ourselves, we are well aware of its requirements and limitations."
Damn, if there was an example for 'patronizing' it would have been the young, blonde haired bastard's tone.
"Dr. Holdren", Porter said, voice stern, "I don't mean to overstep, but I believe that was a little much. They're both new to our technology."
"Of course Dr. Porter."
Then I saw a side of the woman I didn't know she had. She was shorter than Holdren by four or five centimeters, and head and shoulders beneath me, even so, the shrink cleared her throat as she planted herself between the two of us, staring daggers into the division leader.
"I understand and appreciate your position and importance, BioScience division leader, however these two are our guests, specifically Father's guests. Not only that, but I believe it would be impossible for you to appreciate what they've been through to get here, or what the revelations once they did were like for them. That being said, I believe they deserve at least enough respect to speak with them as people, wouldn't you agree? Division leader?"
The way she invoked his title at the end sounded more like a stab than anything else. Regardless of whether this was her putting on airs to gain our trust or not, my opinion of the slight and, now I realize, fierce woman raised by an order of magnitude.
"Dr. Porter, I understand your duties as their escort-"
"I am here to help them", she snapped.
There's definitely something between these two.
"Yes, right, my mistake."
As amusing as it was to watch Porter go after Holdren, I don't think this would go anywhere productive. A glance at Nate told me he thought so too.
"Enough", I said before either could continue. Both scientists looked up at me in unison. "We're good here."
Porter nodded after a short pause, and turned back to Holdren. "Then we will take our leave."
Without waiting for a response, Porter began toward the main hub. I couldn't help the smile that drifted across my face as the rest of us followed.
Another hour later, after a short debrief with Shaun about what we thought, we found ourselves back in the well furnished, all too clean apartment.
"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the level of technology they have here", Nate said as he flopped down on the sofa. "I wouldn't have dreamed of some of the things they're making. Dr. Li and the advanced systems division, with everything they're developing for the Courser and Synth programs, the fusion reactor, weapons, surveillance… it's crazy. Then… well other than Holdren, the BioScience division is unbelievable. They've somehow managed to keep advancing even though the world ended 200 years ago."
I couldn't disagree; the work they've done is remarkable under the circumstances. And that's what bothers me. The Institute is a complete enigma for the people in the Commonwealth, something mysterious and terrifying. That's understandable considering how they operate, but the question remains: why? With the infrastructure and technology they have… why wouldn't they support places like Diamond City? I'm not an expert in economics, but even I know expanding your operations gives you access to more resources, which in turn allows for more development. I had at least part of the answer: they consider the people stuck in the hellscape above ground 'inferior'. As repulsive as that was, it couldn't have been the entire reason. People use that as an excuse to attack people, not avoid them.
"What did Dr. Li want?" Nate asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"To talk."
"She wants to talk to you?" The smaller man frowned. "What does she want dead?"
I shook my head.
He fell silent for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. "Well, she seems alright, better than Ayo, Filmore, or Holdren… which isn't saying much." The ex-soldier yawned, stretching out on the sofa. "Damn it's been a long day. Shut eye sounds great right about now."
That I also couldn't disagree with.
The ex-soldier stood and wandered into the bedroom while I sat against the living room wall, opposite the front door. As I drifted into my approximation of sleep, curiosity swirled through my mind. What the hell does Li want, and why come to a stranger for it?
A/N: SCENE! Not much to say here, I think this chapter is pretty straight forward, but we do have a bit of building intrigue with Dr. Li. Damon's... attempts at being diplomatic are laughable at best but hey, at least he's trying right? Hope you all enjoyed and I will see you next time!
Next Chapter: 1/21, More Questions Than Answers